Connor
by Bob Rhynoplasty
Summary: Chase sits in his living room with a glass of scotch, reliving the best and worst times of his life. One shot, very sad.


**Connor**

_**Summary: Chase looks through an old photo album and remembers the best and worst moments of his life.**_

_**Disclaimer: If I owned, THEY WOULDN'T HAVE GOTTEN RID OF THE HOT GUY WITH THE SEXY ACCENT. But they did, so it's pretty clear they I don't own it.**_

_**Author's Note: This is extremely angsty. I got tears in my eyes trying to write it, but that's what I was going for. If you cry, I did my job. If you don't want to cry or don't want to be depressed, don't read this. Fair warning.**_

Robert Chase was good with kids. Anyone who worked with him could see that clear as day. Every time they had a younger patient, they always seemed to connect with him better than either Cameron or Foreman. It was weird, really. Cameron was the sweet nurturing one, they should have connected with her. But they didn't.

He loved kids. He liked that they were willing to talk to him. And he liked hearing what they had to say. He became a confidante for these kids. They talked to him when they wouldn't talk to their parents. And he was willing to listen without judging. He was a little dorky about it, but that was what probably drew their attention the most.

It bothered him when a child died. Typically he hid it well. He wasn't Cameron, he didn't need every person around him to know how he was feeling or that he was hurting. But it did still hurt him. He would never let the others know, but every time they lost a child, he died a little more inside.

He sat in his living room, with his favorite photo album opened up on the coffee table before him. A glass of scotch on the rocks accompanied him. He stared at the pictures and remembered. These were some of the fondest memories he had. They were also some of his most painful.

Nobody ever bothered to ask why he left Australia. They all assumed it was to escape his father's name. It was true, he wanted to be taken seriously as a doctor, and that's hard to do when your father lingers above your head every second of every day. But he didn't escape his father when he moved to New Jersey. Truth be told, he never wanted to. He wanted to escape Connor.

He gulped down his scotch as he turned a page. He was disgusted by that thought. Disgusted that he wanted to escape him. To forget him. He hated himself, but he couldn't help it. It hurt so damn much all the time. He just wanted the pain to go away.

He had lied when he said he left Seminary School because he failed his "test." Now that he had very little faith left, his coworkers thought that was why he left. But he didn't lose his faith till 

Connor. He was thrown out of Seminary School. He never bothered to correct them. I mean, who wants to admit that they were booted from _Seminary School_? And the reason pissed him off to this day. He caught one of the priests with his hands up an Alter Boy's robe and pulled him off. He probably shouldn't have hit him, but he was angry. He turned to the church because his mother abused him. The church was supposed to be safe for boys like that. That prick destroyed the sanctuary that was his faith. And he was furious about it. He was thrown out, the priest wasn't. Just another injustice in the world.

He stared at one of his favorite pictures of him and Ann. Annabelle Dellaby, the woman he once considered to be the love of his life. Now he didn't believe in love at all, because of her.

He had met Ann during Med school. She was a year older than him, and she was beautiful. Big bright brown eyes and full lips. Her hair was light brown and so curly. He used to love to just twist it between his fingers when they lay in bed together. She was probably the only one to ever call him "Bobby." Hell, she was the only one he ever _let_ call him "Bobby." It was never his favorite of nicknames, but from her mouth, it was sweeter than ambrosia would be.

They were together for over a year, she had left school and had started her residency, when they found out Ann was pregnant. At first they were scared, a baby was a huge responsibility, and with his history, he was afraid of what kind of father he would make. Ann was terrified. She was afraid her Bobby would leave her to raise this child alone. But he didn't. He didn't a "honorable" thing and asked her to marry him. She of course said yes.

The ceremony was small. Only a handful of their closest friends and family were there. Chase had pleaded with his father to come, but he was nowhere to be found. Still, the wedding was perfect. Chase's entire face was sore from all the smiling he did.

Seven months later, Connor was born. It was by far the greatest day Chase ever experienced in his entire life. No other moment of happiness even came close to how he felt as he first held his baby boy. Six pounds, nine ounces, twenty-four inches long, and a dusting of brown hair planted on his head. Chase had done the delivery himself. He had just started residency at the time, and he figured since he had to learn how to do it, why not bring his own son into the world?

He was beautiful. Everybody always told him how much he looked just like Chase. He had his eyes, his smile. The only thing of his mother's that he had was his hair.

The delivery was hard on Ann though. She suffered from post partum in the worst way. Sometimes Chase was afraid to leave the baby alone with her. He even put his job on hold and took a paternity leave while he waited for her to recover.

Only she never did. She just got worse. Connor was eight months when Chase noticed the small packages of white powder hanging around Ann's possessions. He didn't want to admit it. Surely she wouldn't be doing drugs. It was white powder, it could have been anything.

Still, he wouldn't take any chances with his son. He had seen what ignoring problems could do a family. His father ignored his mother's drinking and he still dealt with the consequences. He hired a part time nanny to take care of Connor when he was at work. She was a sweet girl, never rose her voice. She would wake Connor up in the morning (he had to leave early and never had the heart to wake the boy up) feed him, clothe him, play with him and pretty much keep him busy until Chase came home at night. He was always home by five forty-five at the latest. Rosa really was everything he could have asked for.

But then "it" happened. He left early, as he always did. Ann was already awake—and sober for once—sitting at the kitchen table, sipping her coffee. Her hands were shaking horribly. Chase wished he could have felt sympathy for her, but she brought all of it on herself. He kissed her goodbye and told her Rosa would be over in a half an hour to watch Connor. Ann just nodded and tried to take a sip of the steaming hot drink without spilling it on herself. Then Chase went into his son's bedroom and kissed him goodbye.

The day passed as it normally did. People came in sick, and left healthy, well usually. By the time five o clock rolled around he was feeling pretty good. A person in the ICU had coded and he shocked him back to life. He didn't even mind when the man's wife sobbed into his lab coat as she tried to thank him. He felt… needed. Proud of himself. It was hard to describe, but, it was as if in that one moment he found his purpose in life. And that was an extraordinary moment.

But that feeling left him as he returned home. As soon as he walked inside he knew something was wrong. The air surrounding the house felt… different. Darker, almost. He kicked off his shoes and walked down the hallway. To his left was the living room. Ann was sprawled on the couch, watching some lame soap opera that never seemed to run out of ideas. He knew as soon as he saw her that she was high. Her upper body was hung off the couch, her hair was brushing against the carpet, while her one foot was casually leaning against the top of the furniture. Her nose was caked in white.

"Where's Rosa?" He should have seen her the second he came home. Rosa always greeted him at the door. She had a slight crush on him, but he pretended not to notice. Furthermore, Ann was never out in the living room when Rosa was over. She always stayed locked up in the bedroom.

Ann had shrugged, not taking her eyes off the television. "She called in sick this morning." He remembered how panic rose in him when he heard that. How he had left his two year old son alone with a drug addict. He had officially turned into his father.

He had run into the kitchen and stopped dead in his tracks. Lying in the middle of the floor was his boy. Surrounded by a pool of blood. He ran to him and scooped him up. He was so stiff. His body had fully entered rigor mortis. And he was so cold. His skin was like ice to the touch.

He saw the frying pan on the stove. Bits of brain matter and spatters of blood were painted across the side and bottom. He looked at the back of Connor's head and saw the whole where his skull was cracked. But he couldn't move. He rocked back and forth, sobbing his eyes out, just clinging to the body of his son.

Ann had walked in a few moments later, screaming at him to shut up. And never before in his life had he ever been so angry. Never had he ever struck a woman. But as he stared at this _bitch_ he couldn't help himself. He lay Connor back on the ground, stood up and back handed her as hard as he could. She nearly fell over from the force but he didn't care. He just picked her up and wrapped his fingers around her throat and squeezed.

Her eyes and grown wide in fear. She was able to make gasping noises he was squeezing so tight. But he didn't care. He wanted to squeeze every last breath out of her. He wanted her to die. But he let go. And she fell to the floor in a heap, gulping up as much air as she could. He went back to holding his son.

He left Australia a few weeks after the funeral. His friends had to support him, he couldn't even stand. Ann had been locked up, she was still locked up, at least he hoped. He would never forgive her for what she did. He just wished he could hate her too.

He stared at the photo in front of him. He was passed out of the couch with Connor lying on top of him, his little arm slung over his father's face and practically poking him in the eye. Chase had his arm slung over the boy and was hugging him close. That was his absolute favorite picture. He couldn't help but smile every time he saw it. Nor could he stop the tears.

He always imagined what Connor would have been like had he lived. Would he be a good man? Would he be good in school? What would he have done with his life? Would he have followed his father and become a doctor, or would he become a cop like all little boys want to be? Chase replayed a number of different scenarios in his head every day. It killed him to know that he would never know the answer to his questions.

Robert Chase loved children. No matter what age, or what gender, he would always imagine that Connor was that kid. The kid who believe in aliens, or flirted with the pretty doctor, or the kid who desperately wanted to be cool and fit in.

He took another sip of his scotch as he turned the page, hoping to lose himself in his memories.


End file.
